


Maiden Voyage

by Barbedbeat



Series: A Smuggler's Chronicles [1]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbedbeat/pseuds/Barbedbeat





	1. Chapter 1

_[Theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKAnyk0E6RY) _

  
  
“Captain? Captain, wake up! Now it’s not a good moment for going dead, really: that would be a prime example of awful timing.”  
Smug’s consciousness was shoved back into her brain by a magnificent slap, one that swept across her face with all the force of a storm.  
“Ah!! I’m up, I’m up, what...”  
Her eyelids shot open, adjusting to the semi-darkness that surrounded her.  
The first image that shaped into her mind was that of a man, _a hulk_ of a man, covered from head to toe in blood, ebony skin glistening in the light of a wall lamp.  
Her brain was too confused, and way too little oxygenated to prevent her from screaming.  
“... oh Ancients gracious, _Shtembi_ ,” she said finally, placing her metal hand on her heart, “What--”  
She looked around, doe-eyed, panic blaring like an alarm inside her skull.  
“What happened?!”  
The man splayed his arms wide, annoyance etched in his features.  
“You got shot! You were bleeding out, like a big, fat pig, you were. I scooped you up, dragged you up to the infirmary and patched you up the best I could.”  
He pointed at the scattered bandages and tools that lay on the bench next to hers, flinging a loose thread of gauze off with a finger.  
“You’re welcome, by the way.”  
Smug groaned.  
“No, no, you idiot: I meant before that. Where’s Wilde? And where’s the others?”  
Shtembi’s laughter grinded against her brain like a rusty saw.  
“Gone! They took them, captain. All of them, Ancients smite you. Rounded them up like dogs proper and bound them up like a bunch of sausages, they did. They let me go cause I lay next to you an’ played dead when they cornered us, down in the hold. By the time they came ‘round you’d bled more than enough for both both of us, and no one bothered to check twice. So yeah. Quite the situation we’re in. Hope you’re damned happy, captain.”  
He’d started pacing around the room, much like an angered bull.  
“Oh, the irony. ‘Let’s go to Dunmore, find us a honest job.’ Aye Wilde: great idea. Look where it got you, raked by fucking slavers. And look where it got me: stuck in the middle of the ocean with… with a bloody criminal, that’s it!”  
Smug felt a pang of pride swell in her chest.  
“Hey!!”  
She raised a finger in accusatory fashion, though her gesture came through as much less threatening that she’d intended, thanks to her horizontal, half-naked circumstances.  
“Tone it down a tad, will you? I’m no _bloody criminal_ : I’m a smuggler. There’s a world of difference between the two.”  
“Oh, is there?!”  
A book-sized hand compressed her windpipe, but she didn’t do as much as flinch.  
“Then pray, tell me. Tell me, cause the more I talk to you, the more I regret my decision of keeping you alive.”  
Smug tried to chuckle, but failed miserably.  
“What, you want to kill me, sailor? Then do it, and do it fast,” she croaked.  
“But mark my words, Harkim won’t be half as lenient towards our men, if you do. And -- ack! -- they’ll all lose their ticket to freedom, your -- your friend Wilde included.”  
The pressure on her throat eased immediately, allowing her to fill her burning lungs once more.  
“What?! Are you telling me that-- that you know those bastards?!”  
Smug wiped a trail of saliva off her lips before answering.  
“Only freshwater sailors are not familiar with Moloko and his mooks, lad. ‘Sides...”  
She dabbed at the bandages covering her abdomen, and sucked a breath through her teeth.  
“... killing me was never in their plans. I’m sure whoever it was shot me has already been keelhauled. Fortunately for me -- and for those bastards, blast them to pieces -- my skin’s as tough as a dog’s. Dead women pay no ransoms.”  
Shtembi looked at her in the same way a tea-sipping dame would look at an hat-wearing orangutan.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean...”  
Smug sighed, trying to keep the claws of pain at bay.  
“This was no mere slave heist, Shtembi. They’ve taken our crew-- _my_ crew, hostage, and now Moloko must be waiting for me to show up and negotiate with him. Fucker.”  
She turned her head and glued her sockets to Shtembi’s.  
“Moloko’s put a bounty on the Chimera, Shtembi. For five years they’ve been trying to get to us and our crystals, and now, finally, they succeeded. A shame, really.  Harkim and his lot are the most savage and ill-organized pirates you’ll see roaming Tatalopo’s waters, and they’d never have managed to do as much as kiss our ship’s ass it if whoever was in charge of last night’s watch hadn’t screwed up majestically!”  
Her voice had gained in volume and raspiness with every word and, before long, she was screaming.  
“Where were you when they started chasing us?! What were you doing instead of keeping your eyes open, you poor excuse of a man, what the fuck were you thinking?”  
She saw Shtembi go pale, his rage melting like snow in the sun.  
“Captain, I--”  
“Yes, captain: that’s right! Your captain gives you an order, you follow it. I don’t care if you don’t agree with my choices, I don’t give a damn if you’d rather drown than trust me: all I care is that, while I’m alive and breathing, this ship and every soul on it is under my command! And in disobeying me, you’ve doomed us all!!”  
Sweat had started dripping down her neck, and her eyes had gotten worryingly bloodshot.  
“Shit,” she whispered, dragging a palm down her face.  
“Alright, no need to freak out now. What’s done is done. We can’t change the past, can we?”  
She slowly rolled on her side, gritting her teeth against the mounting discomfort.  
“Luckily for those poor sods though, I know exactly what Moloko wants. As long as we don’t tarry too long, everything will turn out fine. Just fine.”  
Her prosthesis claked nervously, catching the man’s attention.  
“Hey, big guy. Did Wilde teach you how to do shots as well?”  
Shtembi nodded, trying with all his might to keep eye contact.  
“Good. Do me some pain juice. There’s no time to lose.”

 

“What now, captain?”  
“Now, follow me. And roll me another wick, will you?”  
Smug darted out of the medic’s quarters, slightly high with blood loss and morphine both, a cigarette dangling from her lips.  
Her first voyage as captain wasn’t going nearly as well as she’d hoped.  
It wasn’t going well at all, in fact.  
If having two thirds of her crew replaced with untrusting softhands hadn’t been enough, slavers had happened. And now she’d need to rescue her men, the very men that had thrown a riot as soon as she’d pointed her ship towards Lochwynn without even letting her explain why, why she -- nay, the whole of Salimar -- needed those crystals, the very crystals she’d now have to kiss goodbye in order to save their ungrateful hides.  
Lord Harmont wouldn’t get his supply that month.  
The Resistance wouldn’t get its supply, that month.  
That launch had already presented itself as an utter failure, or better: “A shitstorm, a total, honking shitstorm, that’s what it is.”  
Ah, but it wasn’t her fault! It wasn’t Smug’s fault that whole mess had happened. Being born in the first place, the war in the second, and the Duke’s rise to power acting as closure of that absurd conga line along with its banning of crystals and all the chaos it had brought.  
“He needs to go sit on a cannon, he does. On several cannons, actually, while they’re all firing. That’d set him right, death to the Duke, long live the Duke.”  
Smug was rambling, and she knew: she knew cause she’d seen how high Shtembi’s eyebrows had twitched on his forehead, and she’d noticed he’d been hesitant to approach her for longer than the strict necessary to hand her a freshly rolled cigarette.  
She, however, did not care.  
Her cabin’s door creaked a faint protest as she kicked it open, zeroing in on her bunk.  
“There.”  
She yanked a white sheet off her mattress, and pressed it against Shtembi’s chest.  
He was a big man, tall enough she had to turn her head slightly upwards to address him, and that was a nice change of pace.  
“Fucking finally, someone I can look in the eyes without hunching over! That’s a merit Shtembi, makes me not want to strangle you in spite of your impressive fuck-uppiness.”  
“Thanks, captain, I guess. But what do I need this fo--”  
“Hoist it astern, atop Salimar’s flag. It’s white: means we come in peace, and also that we won’t get our ship shot to splinters when we’ll be spotted. We’re heading to Moloko’s den, Shtembi lad, this is no fun trip. Dangerous business and all that.”  
She shouldered past him, bolting out of her room and up the companionway hatch.  
The fresh breeze of dawn caressed her nostrils, but she was bent on forfeiting its beneficial balm by filling her bronchi with smoke instead.  
“I take the wheel,” she stated, strutting towards the pilot’s house, heart drumming in her temples.  
“Oh-- oh, before I go...”

She wheeled on her heels, nearly causing Shtembi to trip over her feet.  
“Get down in the boiler room, and turn on the feeder. When you’re finished, I want you to keep your ass on deck and your eyes on the water. You see bubbles coming up, you sound the bell.”

“Bubbles? Why? What do they meam?!”  
“Ferals, buddy! _Ferals down below, in the ocean blue, a drake’s swimming up-- watch out!_ _  
_ _It’s coming to get you!_ ”

 

* * *

  
  
The Walled Court.  
Many had described it as “an hidden jewel, perched upon the archipelago’s highest peak like a dragon in waiting.”  
To Smug, it looked more like a scrawny pigeon, clinging to its obsidian nest like it was afraid of plummeting in the sea’s hungry maws.  
“A fit accommodation for a bunch of cowards,” she whispered to no one, squinting against the sharp glare of midday.  
The crooked brass linings coating the Court’s walls shone brightly up above, glimmering with second-hand pride under the Winter sun.She’d just started climbing down the pilot house ladder when a voice thundered from atop the Court’s tower, amplified by the metallic filter of a megaphone.  
“

 _Who’s there? State your name and intent._ ”  
_“I’m Zadie Ewicht, captain of the Mercantile Steamship Chimera. You all know me as Smug. Harkim took my men prisoner last night. I simply wish to parley with Moloko.”_  
Smug’s Umweli was far from perfect, but her statement seemed to have hit the nail right on the head.  
Immediately, a makeshift elevator groaned on its hinges, its descent marked by a big ruckus of whirring cogs and ricketing sprockets.  
_“You may come up, captain. Alone.”_  
“Shit.”  
Smug pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled sharply.  
“Alright then. Shtembi, take the helm, moor the ship in that alcove there. If I’m not back in three hours... good luck, and Ancients speed you.”  
Then, she lowered the Chimera starboard stage and leaped towards the contraption.  
When her feet impacted the steel platform with a clang, she regretted that decision, along with all of her previous life choices.  
“Hrrfg,” she spluttered, hunching over as pain bit through her muscles, sending a scorching jolt across her abdomen.  
Morphine had started to wear off, allowing the damage to coalesce in her consciousness with agonizing clarity.

The right side of her chest was pulsing uncomfortably, and she could feel the gash throb, warm, under her fingers.  
That pellet had done quite a number on her ribs, and the flesh around her wound felt like a chunk of scrambled mince.  
The bullet had missed her lung and liver both -- an Ancients-sent miracle, most likely -- but even so it had deprived her of quite a bit of lifeblood. Had Shtembi not cauterized it in time, she would already be good and done for.  
  
Smug swallowed, suddenly self-conscious.  
She was doing it.  
She was going to step into a cove full of blood-thirsty pirates alone, in pain, inhabiting a body that was bound to collapse with tear and exhaustion both without her having a say in the matter.  
“Stupid move, Smug, stupid, bloody move,” she thought.  
She raised her head, following the ever-shortening span of rail that separated her from the summit.  
“Stupid, aye,” she sighed as the elevator hissed to a halt inside a greated cage, “but necessary. May the Ancients have mercy of me.”  
The lift’s cage opened, revealing a stocky woman. Her hair was bright and red, and her curls seem to sway like flames in the breeze.  
“Cap’n Smug, I take it?”  
She nodded.  
“Good. Moloko’s waiting for you. Told us you’d come.”  
Smug sighed, taking a gingerly step into the braziers-lit hall before her.  
In spite of Tatalopo’s choking climate, the atmosphere inside the building was awfully dank, and Smug found herself shivering in her coat.  
She followed the woman along a winded corridor, its walls adorned with lanterns, art-deco prints, bones of dubious origin and stolen tapestries. It was a befuddling concoction of tribal and kitsch that sent Smug’s brain reeling with uneasiness.  
If that wasn’t enough, an assortment of moldy pelts littered the floors, and Smug had to suppress a “urgh” when her shoe grazed the scales of a quartered drake.

  
The Court, she had to admit, was huge.  
They walked for minutes, passing along countless hallways and soaring staircases, their steps coated in velvet, incense burning at every angle-- possibly to cover the stench of dried fish and unwashed bodies, Smug wagered.  
She, however, wasn’t as shook by the tacky jumble of mahogany furniture and gold-plated sculptures that occupied every available corner as she was by the extraordinary absence of people therein. The lack of living, breathing kin seemed to haunt every available bit, expanding quietly all around her, much akin to a quiet gas.  
“Hey, listen, lass,” she started, eyes darting around like confused bugs.  
“Is this place normally this… this _empty?_ Or did you all get a case of gut-leaks? Cause let me tell you, this is disquieting.”  
The woman chuckled, tucking a cigar stump between her teeth.  
“Hm, it depends. Most of our boys are out earning their pay-- if you know what I mean. As for the others, well...”  
She turned around, winking impishly.  
“Now cap’n, I don’t wanna rub no salt in your wounds, but tonight... was a bit of a night, aye? After all those years of disaster, Harking finally managed a score. Got a nice party going on, y’know? Plenty of booze. You missed it for a wink, cappy.”  
"Oh, what a _dreary_ shame,” Smug whispered, teeth clenched with frustration.  
“You could say that! Tons of fun that was, really. But what I mean with that is: most our lads are either sleeping or cooped up somewhere while alcohol does its course. Don’t want Boss catch you puking on one of his carpets.”  
They stopped in front of a carved portal, and Smug watched as her guide placed a palm on one of its many knobs.  
“Moloko, though, is very awake, cappy.”  
She took a step back as the woman peeked inside the room, barking something in rapid-fire Umweli, something Smug could not even begin to grasp.  
“All set, cappy Smug! You may go in.”  
Smug took a deep breath as one of the doors swung open, and tip-toed inside.  
  
Moloko was sitting at a long table placed in the middle of the so-called throne room.  
That place wasn’t exceedingly big, but its walls were tall enough to host a wyvern, and adorned with a plethora of curtains and hanging tapestries, all bearing Moloko’s insignias, a skeletal serpent wrapped around a galleon.  
The man himself was sitting comfortably on a purple-clad armchair, calmly indulging in an early lunch.  
He was wrapped in a silver robe, and every inch of his face was covered in ceremonial Unweli tattoos, that stretched all the way to his naked scalp.  
In spite of being in the middle of his meal, his eyes were pointed straight at Smug, and they greeted her with their piercing stare.  
“Ah, Prince Moloko. Long time no see.”  
Smug refused to bow, instead grazing her temple with a fist in a gesture of mundane respect.  
“Zadie Ewicht! A pleasure meeting you again. Welcome to my Court.”  
Moloko’s voice was smooth and deep, like that of a purring panther.  
“My my, how you’ve grown! Last time I’ve seen you, you were little more than a peeping birdie, and now?! Look at you! A woman through and through, and a renown captain, even. I’m pleasantly surprised.”  
Smug cocked her head. She was well accustomed to the man’s unctuousness, but that didn’t stop her pulse from ticking with exasperation.  
“You, on the other hand, haven’t changed an inch, Moloko. You’ve been looking twenty for about fifteen years. Now it’s my turn to be surprised.”  
Moloko’s laughter was little more than a dangerous chime.  
“You know how it is, Zadie dear: I have a reputation to maintain. And appearances are fundamental to that purpose.”  
“One day you’ll have to tell me how you do it. I could use some rejuvenating spell too, you know? Sun and salt have a way of eating at the skin, and I’ve already sprouted a wrinkle somewhere.”  
Moloko rested his elbows on the table, and his chin upon his wrists.  
“While I understand your standpoint, Zadie dear, I’m afraid I can’t share. A man needs to treasure his secrets, after all.”  
“Oh sure. A man does indeed, but a necromancer even more so, I bet.”  
Moloko smiled, baring his teeth in a predatory grin.  
In spite of his composure, Smug could see the minute spasms of irritation crawling under his skin, and felt a wave of satisfaction filling her to the brim.  
“Sincerity. A rare thing to witness, amidst these walls, and a nice change of scenery from the usual bowing and scraping everybody feels obliged to lay at my feet. Still, Zadie love, I must admit I’m more than a tad disappointed. You see: I was expecting you much, much earlier than this. It is known I’m used to entertain my guests from 9 to 11 am only, and if it weren’t for the affection I bear to your likeness I would have denied you entry. I am a busy man, you understand, and delays have a way of irking me. What kept you?”

Smug knew he knew, and she also knew he was trying to sap her of her proverbial smugginess. Though she had no intention of humouring him.  
“Oh, I apologise, really: I thought you was already aware of… this.”  
She lifted her shirt just enough to reveal her bandages, and waited for his reaction.  
It was textbook-like.  
Moloko’s palm impacted with his forehead, and he made a big show of appearing contrite.  
“Oh, but of course! How could I forget? Please, Smug dear: forgive me. As I said earlier, I am a busy man, and at times, things just...” He snapped his fingers, “... fleet from my head.”  
He motioned her to take a seat before continuing.  
“Please, Zadie dear: do sit down. You look like you need some rest. And about that: I am drearily sorry, I truly am. I hope you’ll understand when I’ll say we were… quite surprised to learn of Maddox’s recent passing and your subsequent promotion as captain of the Chimera. I fear not everyone got the news on time, and I’m afraid old Harkim might have been remiss in specifying that to one of his gunners. They must have taken you for an expendable cabin-boy of sorts. And that, paired with the riot you surely must have thrown in those circumstances, convinced him getting rid of such a… problematic hostage.”  
He mimed the act of shooting a gun, lips bent in a mocking simper.  
“Ah, but don’t fear, Zadie love: last I heard of him, he’d been marooned in the middle of Turm atoll. A clever idea, truly: in a single move, Harkim ensured that bloke will never repeat such a mistake ever again, while providing enough distractions for the Ferals of half the archipelago not to bother you on your way to the Court.”  
“Oh,” Smug uttered, “so that’s why my transit went so smoothly, I imagine.”  
“Hmm.”  
Moloko nodded, grabbing a bit of wiggly meat with his chopsticks and plopping it into his mouth.  
Smug grimaced slightly, trying to fend off the image of a bunch of drakes dismembering a screaming guy in grossly vivid detail.  
“Oh, but where are my manners?!”  
The Prince had caught her staring, Smug realized, and was ready to infer yet another blow.  
“You must be dreadfully hungry, Zadie dear. Here: take a bite.”  
He slid his plate towards her, causing its contents to tremble menacingly.  
The stench of the thing was overpowering, and threatened to send Smug’s imagination down an unpleasant pit.  
Smug felt her mouth fill with acid, and it took her more than all of her determination not to spill the contents of her stomach on her shoes.  
“In the name of all that’s great, what even is that thing?!”  
Moloko smirked.  
“Pickled shark! A true delicacy.”  
An exhausted kind of anger began stretching its tendrils across Smug’s brain.  
“Thank you, Prince, but I’ll pass,” she stated, pushing the plate back to the sender.  
“Actually,” she reprised, tone cracking with ill-concealed fury, “now that we gnawed our pleasantries to the bone, I think it’s time we start talking business. Don’t you agree?”  
Moloko nodded approvingly, pouring a generous dose of berry wine into his goblet.  
“A sound decision, Zadie dear.”

A two-layered silence encased them, tense and impatient from Smug’s part, calm and calculating from Moloko’s.  
He was waiting for her to speak, like a chess player anticipating the next move of his foe.  
“Where is my crew?”  
Smug’s voice tolled in the hall like a raspy bell.  
“Why, Zadie, in my dungeons, of course.”  
“Can I see them?”  
Moloko shook his head, sipping a bit of red liquid from his glass.  
“I’m afraid not,” he replied, self-satisfaction wafting off him like cheap perfume.  
Smug felt her temperature rise.  
“Tell me if they’re alive and well, at the very least.”  
“So they are. Nobody will pluck a hair from their heads until I say so.”  
The woman felt a goop of bile climbing up her esophagus.  
He’d said “until,” not “unless”.  
Negotiating with Moloko meant you had to learn and pay attention to that kind of subtlety,  
for he liked to chose his words carefully, and it was exactly under their bleak undertones that danger lay, growling softly, like a beast in hiding.  
“Alright then.”  
Smug pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to steady her spinning vision. She knew what he wanted; she only wished she could be lucky enough to provide it.  
“How long, Moloko? And how many?”  
“Ten days from now. Five crates.”  
The Prince had slouched in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his lips.  
He was observing her the way one would a freshly-ignited fireworks, wondering what kind of blazing figures it will carve in the sky once exploded.  
“Five cr...?”  
The room tilted sharply to the right, forcing Smug to wrench the edge of the table not to topple over.  
“Oh, Ancients smite you, Moloko, give me a break! Five crates, that’s insane! Malakai can hardly manage three at any given month, and that’s on a good haul.”  
“Is that so?”  
Before she could realize that, Smug had fallen right into his trap.  
“Yes! Yes, it is! The-- Lochwynn’s veins are crumbling down, and it’s a near miracle we still get crystals at all. Even more so after the Duke retired all of Salimar’s dredgers and ordered the excavator plants blown. Do you-- do you have any idea what state the mines are in?! Do you know what it takes to even scoop a kilogram of the thing up, let alone twenty-fucking-five?? I--”  
Moloko raised a finger, shushing her like a tired parent.  
“Zadie, Zadie dear, Zadie love...”  
Smug’s pressure raised alarmingly, and her prosthetic arm began clattering wildly against her mounting muscular tension.  
“... you must mistake me for one of Lochwynn’s ghouls, which I’m fortunately not. Hence, none of the things you said is even remotely my problem.”  
There was a sudden, furious flicker in his eyes, one that tolerated no interruption.  
“I just know you have ways of accessing something I need, Zadie dear, something I have no means of obtaining other than asking politely. You see, Lochwynn’s dwellers have a tendency to get awfully tense whenever one of my ships approaches their shores. I’ve lost more ships than I’d like to admit in this foolish endeavour, and you, my friend, are the only person I can trust to acquire that something and make it back in one piece. Or, well,” he said, casting her chest an eloquent glance, “ _alive_ , at the very least.”  
It was all Smug could take.  
“First off: I am _not_ your friend, Moloko.”  
Her brass finger wiggled in the air like a club, underscoring her every word with a clatter.  
“I’d rather shoot myself in the head than be considered such. Second: you aren’t asking politely: you’re straight up blackmailing me, you-- you disgusting, sickening, son of a rotten bitch!”  
Her yell rung, scathing, into her own ears, and she caught herself snarling at him like a rabid mongrel.  
“You’re lucky I treasure my men’s lives more than I do mine, Moloko, or I swear on my honour I’d already have shot that bald scalp of yours right off your skull!”  
Moloko blinked.  
“You’re hurting me, Zadie.”  
The Prince placed a hand on his heart and the other on his forehead, bending his spine in a dramatic pose.  
“I believed there could be a civil agreement between us, I truly did. Since you don’t happen to grasp the fine art of words-mincing, however, I fear I’ll have to shed my famed courtesy for the time being.”  
She watched him as he rose, black veins swelling under his skin.  
Her feet kicked the ground but before she could do as much as stand up, he’d slid right behind her, locking her neck in a clinch.  
She growled, clawing at his arm with all her might, but Moloko was strong, impossibly strong, and when his fingers closed around her temples, she knew something horrid was about to come.

A blinding light seared her vision, splitting her mind apart.  
Next thing she knew, she was screaming, every fiber alight with pain, tearing, scorching, excruciating pain.  
It was magic, forbidden magic, of the kind only idiots and madmen dared use.  
Smug howled and howled, consumed by an intangible, ravenous fire that flared through her nerves with beastly ferocity, until her body gave out, and nothing but darkness remained.  
In her oblivion, she could sense words, slithering across her consciousness like chittering worms.  
“You will bring me five crates worth of crystals by Winter’s Solstice. Should you fail… suffice you to know the agony you’ve just experienced will be nothing but a pinprick, compared to what I’ll do to your men. Did I make myself clear?”  
Moloko’s hands pulled away and, just as it had started, the torture stopped.  
Smug felt her muscles go limp and unresponsive.  
Her forehead met the table with a soft thud, and her ears got filled by the sound of her own heartbeat.  
_“Bring her away.”_

When sight bled back into her eyes, Moloko was gone, and she was being dragged along the Court’s corridors by someone, someone she didn’t have the strength nor the desire to see.


	2. Chapter 2

“Captain…?”  
Shtembi rolled his eyes and poked her with the tip of his foot.   
A pair of burly pirates had just climbed aboard the Chimera, and had tossed Smug on its stern deck like a cheap surprise package.   
And, Shtembi had to admit, she was about as responsive as one.   
“Captain, _please_ .”   
She heard him let out a guttural sigh, only for his groan to melt into a gasp when she finally stirred.   
“Oh! You’re alive, then.”  
Smug nodded-- or at least tried to.  
“That’s good, I guess.”   
He stooped down and placed two fingers on her jugular.   
“Hm, fever. Looks like they gave you quite the welcome there.”  
He helped her mechanical arm around his shoulders and gingerly propped her on her feet.  
“Can you walk, captain?”   
She shrugged, swaying in place.   
“Can you... talk?”   
The woman raised her head just enough to meet his gaze.  
“Uh,” she started.  
“Yes?”  
“Ugh...”

Shtembi’s eyes went wide.  
“Hey, oy! Hold on a second there, eh? Let me just--”  
He dragged her towards the gunwale and pointed at the water below.  
“There. Fire at will.”  
Immediately, Smug felt the contents her stomach flee her mouth in bitter spurts.   
She heaved and heaved, eyelids locked shut against the stabbing headache that flared behind her brow, until her nausea dissolved in a fit of exhaustion.   
“Better?”   
Smug spat out one last goop of saliva and wiped her mouth dry with a sleeve.   
“Better,” she mouthed, striving to regain her breath.  
A semblance of strength had begun bleeding back in her muscles, but blood felt like stinging acid in her veins.  
“Here. Drink some.”  
Shtembi handed her his canteen, and waited diligently for her to finish drinking.  
“So,” he chimed finally, “what happened?”  
The woman rubbed her eyes in a tired gesture.   
“Moloko happened. He… didn’t appreciate me calling him a bastard. I think he’s allergic to truth,” she coughed. “Makes him spill his spells all over the place, that does.”   
Shtembi cocked his head.  
“And what of our guys? Did you see them?”  
“No. Loko didn’t let me. He assured me they’re fine, though. And I know what you’re thinking,” she added, raising a finger to silence the man’s incoming protest, “but let me tell you: for all his faults, Moloko is a man of honour. Our men will be fine-- as long as we comply to his requests.”   
“And if we don’t?”   
Smug let out a bitter chuckle.   
“In that case, they’re screwed. And so are we. Majestically so, I might add.”   
Shtembi mouthed an expletive, scratching his scalp with more force than necessary.   
“Fine, fine…! And what does that asshole want?”   
Smug exhaled slowly, trying to keep a wave of anxiety from wrecking her ribcage.   
“He wants… _well..._ ”   
She bit her lower lip with enough strength to draw blood.  
When she resumed, her voice was uncharacteristically low..  
“He wants five crates of crystals, to be delivered to him by Solstice. Which means we have less than ten days to comply.”   
Shtembi broke, unexpectedly, into a broad grin.   
“Well, then we’re set, no? Hell, that’s better than I thought!”   
Smug blinked stupidly.   
“Oh? How so?”   
“How d’you mean “how so?’”   
He opened his arms wide, and let them fall on his sides.   
“We were going to get the damn things anyway, no? I mean, that’s just a basic delivery kind of mission. We get the crystals, we bring them back, we free our crew. Sure, it’ll mean you won’t get… whatever it is you get in return from your usual commissioners, but, quite frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

Smug really, really wanted to scream. She wanted to punch him square in that gargantuan stomach of his, clutch his collar and tell him, tell him that he knew nothing. Nothing about the crystals, nothing about their origin and purpose, nothing about their rarity.   
Nothing about the sheer hopelessness of their quest.   
And, most importantly, nothing about _her_.  
Yet, she didn’t.  
“I… know what, Shtembi? You’re right. We’ll get the shards and head back. Easy as pie, just like you said,” she whispered instead.   
Her words sounded dead and wrong to her ears, but she forced herself to believe them, much to her chagrin.   
Shtembi clapped his hands, sending her heart trotting in her chest.   
“Great! It’s all set then.”   
He straightened his back and assumed a practical air.   
“What now, captain?”  
“Now, dear lad...”  
She stumbled forward, and clutched the man’s bicep for support.   
“... morphine. Give me morphine. Then, get your ass behind the wheel and set route to Lochwynn. I’ll come relieve you in a few hours. First, though, I… I think I’ll go faint for a little bit, if you’ve got nothing against it.”   


* * *

 

 

The prow of the Chimera bobbed placidly some six miles from Lochwynn’s coast.   
The sun had already set behind the horizon, and icy winds were blowing mercilessly.   
Smug found herself shuddering in her coat, striving to tug it close against the mounting cold.   
Three days had passed since her encounter with Moloko, and blood had started pumping more evenly in her veins. Her mood, though, had sunk to an all-time low, and the meeting with her provider wasn't bound to help her one bit.   
  
“Is that all you’ve got, Malakai?”   
Her words dissolved into silence, dispersed by the rising gusts.   
The ghoul was hunched over the sack of scraps she’d brought him as payment, and was too hypnotized by the amalgam of sprockets and rivets inside it to hear her.   
“Kai, I asked you something.”  
Smug saw his hood shift in her direction, and a cluster of glistening eyes blink at her in confusion.

“Malakai apologizes, Smug, but Malakai’s ears are not as good as they used to be. And all those shinies, good shinies, they distract poor Malakai, you know?”   
  
She saw him scuttle towards her, feet tapping softly on the Chimera’s lowered stage.   
“Pray Smug, ask again.”   
The woman pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, barely stifling a groan.   
“Is that all, Malakai? Three crates? Only three?“   
She pointed at the ghoul's skiff, where three wooden boxes sat in a pool of arcane light.  
Malakai nodded fervently, head bobbing up and down with increasing speed.   
“Yes, yes! It’s all Malakai could scrounge, Smug. It’s not easy for Malakai, you know, and so many died, so many died, in the tunnels beneath Lochwynn’s bo--”   
“Spare me the tear-jerker, will ya? I need more crystals, not a history lesson. And I know you have more, Malakai, don’t lie to me.”   
The ghoul bent his head to the side, sending his vertebraes popping sickeningly.   
“How much is “more”?”  
“Two crates.”  
Smug saw his form freeze in the throes of reflection, and half expected to hear his brain start whirring with effort.   
Tense seconds passed, marked by the wind’s constant howl.   
“No. Malakai can’t give you more. Malakai doesn’t have more.”   
Smug felt a bubble of rage swell deep inside her chest.   
“Liar!!”   
Her fingers closed around his neck, lifting him up like a stuffed puppet.

She could feel his warped essence cling to her skin, toxic and vibrant with crystal radiations.  
It was hurting her, lashing at her flesh with all the fury of a cornered animal, yet she did not budge.

“I know you lie, Malakai. You have plenty of shards, I know you do. And I need them, Malakai, I bloody need them!”  
The ghoul said nothing.   
“What is it you want, eh? More scraps? I don’t have any, but you can take apart one of my cannons,” she said, pointing at the harpoon launcher by her side.   
Malakai shook his head, baring his rotten teeth in a grimace.   
“Oh blast you Malakai, what does it take to convince you, eh?!”   
She wiggled her mechanical prosthesis in the air, causing Malakai’s many eyes to widen with lust.   
“Is it my arm you want? Just say so and I’ll give it to you. But for Hell’s sake, get me more crystals, I fucking-- I fucking beg you!”   
Smug released her grip and Malakai dropped to the ground wheezing like a broken boiler.   
“No, no, Smug: you don’t understand,” he coughed, clutching the hem of her coat and hoisting himself back on his feet.   
“Malakai has no more crystals. Malakai… Malakai sold them.”   
Smug felt her stomach plummet to her ankles.   
“Sold his crystals, Malakai, did: kept some just for you, Smug, and gave away the rest. Maybe, though...”   
He massaged his throat, suddenly pensive.   
“... maybe there’s a way.”   
The ghoul straightened his back, turning to face eastward.  
“Three hours ago Malakai gave two crates to a Ring merchant. He needed them for the Solstice ritual, he said. Travels alone with his brother, on a small, small sloop.”   
He turned around, giving her an eloquent sideways glance.   
“They looked unarmed.”   
  
Immediately, a bout of nausea twisted Smug’s guts.   
Crystal poisoning, perhaps.   
Or maybe it was simply the implication nestled amidst Malakai’s words that tied her innards in a knot.   
She turned around, soothing the wrinkles on her brow with the back of a hand and the burning in her chest with the other.   
“Very well then,” she exhaled, momentarily pensive.   
Then, as if her whole body were to be crossed by strong current, she stood at her maximum height, and snapped her brass fingers.   
“Shtembi,” she commanded, motioning him towards the hold, “bring those crates below. We’ve got no time to lose.”

 

* * *

  
Their departure from Lochwynn had been as tense as a guitar string.   
In spite of his lack of rest, Shtembi seemed to be in full forces. A bit cranky and more than a tad pale, but in forces nonetheless.   
Smug followed him with her gaze as he paced back and forth, head bent low to avoid scraping his scalp against the wheel house’s ceiling.   
He’d forced himself inside, blatantly ignoring her orders to stay on deck, arms flailing under the pull of fury.   
“This is not right, captain. I will not-- and I repeat: I will NOT accept this.”   
Smug leaned against the helm, struggling to keep the last strands of her composure from flying out of the porthole.   
“Yes, Shtembi: you already told me that. You told me something like thirteen times already. And just like all those times, my answer is: ‘get back to your posting this very instant, or I swear on my honor I’ll skin you alive.”   
The man stopped in his tracks, seemingly bemused.   
Then, he reared his curly head and started laughing.   
It was a roaring, scathing cackle that drilled Smug’s patience apart and set her pride to the boil.   
“Oh, _captain_ , what a splendid joke.”   
Shtembi crossed his arms, an incredulous sneer plastered to his face.   
“You really think this is gonna work, don’t you? Send a vague threat my way and boom, I’ll lick your feet, grab a gun and help you in this mental endeavour of yours, that of… of boarding, robbing and possibly killing a couple Ring merchants whose only fault was that of buying some shards to celebrate their Solstice with. Well, let me tell you something, _captain_ ,” he scoffed.   
“Don’t ever come talking to me about honor. Cause you don’t have a speck of the thing left in you.”   
A vein on Smug’s temple began pulsating dangerously.   
“Oh, is that so?”   
She had barely enough time to secure the helm before her vision switched to crimson.   
“Cause you’d be too righteous to get your hands dirty, aren’t you? Well, if you have any better ideas, sound off: I’m all ears.”   
The man’s mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out.   
“Just as I thought.”   
Smug’s voice had crumpled to a snarl, and her eyes had gotten red and bloodshot.   
“Do you think I’m enjoying this, lad? Do you think I’m happy about this whole mess? Cause let me tell you: I’m not. But this is a desperate situation, Shtembi, and desperate situations require desperate meas--”   
“I. Don’t. Care!”   
Shtembi’s hands slammed on her chest, sending her reeling backwards.  
“I don’t care about your feelings. I couldn’t care less about your feelings.”  
Smug’s outrage was replaced by a deep sense of uneasiness as he began marching towards her, as huge and threatening as an alpha drake.   
“It was you who caused this you whore. It’s your fault! It’s all your fault!”   
In spite of his conspicuous shaking, the man grabbed Smug by the collar and yanked her closer.   
“You brought it upon us: you and your stupid smuggling and your wretched greed!” The man’s voice had bled into a howl, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears.  
Smug felt his grip loosen as he turned his head, hiding his gaze from hers.  
“I can’t believe this. This is a nightmare, surely, it must be. I... I never… how...”  
A sob interrupted his sentence.   
“I just wanted an honest job, and instead… Ancients gracious. ”  
Shtembi wrapped his arms around his ribcage and let out a shaky sigh.  
“And all because of you.”   
  
Smug had to muster all of her self-control not to slap him.   
The last thing she needed right now was for her sole remaining sailor to have a nervous breakdown, and yet, there she was.   
“There’s no -- ow, that hurt -- there’s no need for this, lad. Calm down, now. You’re awfully tenste,” she said, making an effort to appear empathetic in spite of her annoyance.   
“Awfully tense, you say?! You must be fucking kidding me.”   
The woman felt her muscles contract as he turned to face her, cheeks red as ripe tomatoes.   
His ribcage had started heaving with anger, and Smug began eyeing him with the kind of wary attention one would reserve to a rabid dog.   
“Not even forty-eight hours ago, we...” He raised a hand and began tallying items on his fingers.   
“We were chased and boarded by slavers; we got rounded up; we got beaten; we got shot--”   
“Yes, I remember that,” Smug mouthed, gently dabbing at her bandages.  
“--our lads got kidnapped; my best friend got kidnapped. And now I’m alone on this ship with a smitten criminal who wants me to engage in acts of piracy!”  
Shtembi’s eyes were open so wide Smug feared they’d pop out of their sockets.   
“And all because--”   
“Because you disobeyed my orders, Shtembi, and spent your shift nursing a bottle of rum instead of staying on the lookout.”   
The woman crossed her arms and took a step in his direction.   
“Did your memory erase itself while I wasn’t looking? Or are you naturally this stupid?”   
She felt Shtembi’s thumb stab her ribs like an accusing dagger.   
“I might be stupid, but I know full well none of this shit would have happened if you weren’t a criminal piece of scum. Putting your whole crew in danger, and for what?”

Smug heard the man’s teeth clench sickeningly as he hid his face behind a palm.

“No, don’t tell me. It’s money. You must make a crapton of money selling that stuff, don’t you?”  
He started to deflate like a punctured zeppelin, only for his meltdown to freeze to a halt.   
“Know what, captain? Let’s make a deal,” Shtembi said, suddenly energized.  
He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a crushing squeeze.  
“I’ll help you in this delinquent endeavour. But you’ll give me a quarter of your total earnings, the ones you and your former captain have surely piled up during the years. You must certainly have a congruent sum stashed away somewhere, and I’m sure you can afford to part with its twenty-five percent.”   
He’d started nodding with increasing vigor.   
“Yes. Let's’ do this, captain. We’ll get the shards, rescue our comrades and go back to Dunmore. After we’ll disembark, you’ll put some nice money on my account, money Wilde and I will then use to take a passage back to Redcrest and give us a fresh start, one that won’t see us at the mercy of a petty smuggler such as yourself.”   
In spite of the man’s threatening presence and scathing tone, Smug couldn’t stop a cackle from bubbling up her throat.   
She tried to, biting her tongue to the point it hurt, but she simply couldn’t resist.

Her chortle echoed across the room, ringing through its walls like the toll of a rusty bell.

Shtembi’s hold weakened as she slapped her thigh, stooping under the weight of her own mirth.  
“A congruent sum, he says! He-- he thinks--” Smug wheezed, wiping some moisture away from her eyes, “he thinks I’m sodding rich, he does! Oh boy, I’d never imagine...”   
“Why are you laughing, you dumb bitch? What is it??”   
“I’m laughing, sailor,” she growled, frustration wafting off her like vapor, “cause you know nothing. All the shards I brought back to Salimar? Never got a dime for ’em.”   
Shtembi took a step back, massaging his neck in disbelief.   
“You must be fucking kidding me. If not for the money, then… then why?!”   
“Cause I’ve been delivering them to the Resistance, you dumb sack!”  
“The… the Resistance?”  
“Yes! The Resistance!”   
Smug was shaking.   
“Do you think-- do you think we liked it, to have our country rape and pillaged by the Duke? Do you think we’ve enjoyed it, being stripped of our primary power source and shoved back two centuries into a… a bloody, wheezing inferno of steam and coal? Do you...”   
Her voice had started cracking dangerously, and she had to rub her forehead several times before continuing, “Do you think I liked it, losing half my family when that rotten wyvern made short work of our armies and perched atop the Ducal palace? Uh? Don’t you think I and all the other the sodden bastards who saw their country’s dignity trampled by that beast’s talons would do anything in our power to try and topple his stinking crown?!”

Shtembi had grown pale and silent, while Smug’s face had taken on a glowing shade of purple.

“So, no: I’m not doing it for the money, Shtembi. I’m doing it for my father and brother, I’m doing it for my fellow countrymen. But, most importantly, I’m doing it cause one day I hope I’ll wake up and see the Duke’s ass get blown into orbit.”  
“Captain, I...”  
Shtembi swallowed, raising his hands in apology.  
“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”  
“No. Of course you didn’t.”  
Smug turned on her heels, crossing the room in even strides.  
“Y’all in Redcrest have had it far too easy to know shit.”  
She splayed her palms on the dashboard and let her gaze wander ahead.  
  
“Well, blast my fucking head.”   
“What? What is it?”   
“A taillight. I see it.”   
Smug grabbed her binoculars and glued them to her sockets.   
“Shit it’s them! The Ring merchants!”   
“What now, captain?”   
Smug inhaled sharply, as if trying to cool her brain down.   
“Now, Shtembi,” she declared, “we ram them the Hell down.”   
  
Her hand closed around the gear lever and yanked it all the way up.   
Immediately, the bang of the thruster got faster, faster, and louder, till the very planks began shaking underneath her feet, and her chest thrummed with the roar of the engines.   
“Steady, sailor.”   
The sloop’s stern drew closer and closer, and Smug’s eyes wider and wider.   
Then, when nothing but a handful of seconds separated the Chimera from its target, the woman planted her feet on the ground and clutched the helm like her life depended on it. “BRACE FOR IMPACT!”   
The ensuing crash painted Smug’s world white, plunging her vision down a narrow tunnel.   
Her tendons began burning with strain as she maneuvered, wrestling to keep the wheel from escaping her grip.   
Once the Chimera found itself in an ideal boarding position, Smug shut the engines off and wheeled on her heels.   
“Shtembi, take command,” she barked, unsheathing her gun and shouldering past him.   
“I’m going to give our new friends a warm welcome.”   


* * *

  
The first shot caught her off guard.  
The rifle’s thunder sent her skull ringing, and she could see its muzzle glistening in the dim light of the sloop’s lanterns.  
“Unarmed my ass,” Smug groaned, ducking behind the gunwale and out of view.  
Their ramming had caused the boat to pivot on its prow, causing its starboard to lock with that of the Chimera, and had sent its occupants blazing with alarm.  
Smug could hear them shouting, and by their tone it was evident they were bickering.  
One of them -- most likely the youngest brother --  seemed bent on hopping on board and blow her scalp off, while his sibling tried to yell him back to reason.  
Smug had already cocked her revolver, readying herself for the inevitable showdown.  
Like in a tunnel-vision dream, she saw the man’s shadow stretch above her, when a second shot sent her teeth clattering.  
“Easy, gentlemen! We mean no harm.”  
She turned around to see Shtembi’s massive figure emerge from the wheelhouse, derringer in hand.  
Before the armed merchant had a chance to respond, Smug sprung on her feet and shoved her gun right in his face.  
“Give it to me. Now.”   
The merchant didn’t speak any Salim, though her outstretched palm seemed to do the trick.   
The rifle barrel slid between her brass fingers, where it stayed, safely tucked in her mechanical grip.   
“Good,” she whispered. “Shtembi! Keep them in your sights and make sure they don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to get the crates.”

  
The sloop’s hold was plunged in total darkness, and Smug found herself raking the walls in search of a lamp. When an old lantern came alive with a fizz, she saw two things.   
The first one were Malakai’s crates, stacked atop a wine barrel.   
The second was a huge, black snout, wiggling in the air as it sniffed her from a distance.   
A dog.   
A sleigh dog, and a big one at that.   
“Hey puppy, good puppy, let’s be friendly, eh? Who’s a good boy?”   
Smug’s voice quivered with insecurity as she took a step towards the boxes, her every gesture slow and measured.   
“Be cool now: I swear I...”   
The beast seemed to be half stunned -- probably as a result of the blow it must have taken when the Chimera rammed the sloop’s stern -- but the hair on his back had begun steeping with aggression.   
“... have no...”   
The dog’s fangs flashed in the penumbra, its blood-red gums glistening menacingly.   
“... bad intentions.”   
Smug’s arms locked around the crates with honest hurry, and her feet began kicking the ground, right as a formidable snarl erupted from the creature’s jaws.   
  
  
“Reverse!! Reverse!! For fuck’s sake, Shtembi: reverse!!!”   
Smug’s yell rippled in the silence as she bolted above decks, terror plain on her face.   
The flaps of her coat had been ripped right apart, and her left sleeve sported several bite marks.   
She could hear the beast approaching as she tossed the crates on board the Chimera, and found herself following them with blinding speed, in a display of athletic prowess she didn’t know she possessed.   
Her shoulders hit her ship’s planks right as it began to retreat, putting a much-welcome distance between itself and that nightmarish vessel.   
“What the Hell was that thing?!”   
Shtembi’s question rang in her ears, reaching through the roar of her own blood.   
“What… what do you think it was?”   
Smug dragged her palm down her face, wiping away a handful of sweat.   
“A blasted dog, that’s what it was.”   
“A dog? So freaking big?!”   
“Well, you know what they say,” Smug said, rolling on her stomach and trying to catch her breath “everything’s bigger up in the Ring.”   
Slowly, she hoisted herself up and turned stern-wise, where darkness had started to engulf the sloop’s ever-distancing shape.   
“Fuckers,” she whispered to no one in particular.   
Then, once she’d regained her bearings, she took ahold of the crates and began her descent to belowdecks.


End file.
